Hippolyta, I wooed thee with my sword, Enter EGEUS, HERMIA, LYSANDER, and DEME TRIUS. Ege. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke! Thes. Thanks, good Egeus: what's the news with thee? Ege. Full of vexation come I, with complaint And interchanged love-tokens with my child : Turned her obedience, which is due to me, I beg the ancient privilege of Athens; As she is mine, I may dispose of her: Thes. What say you, Hermia? Be advised, fair maid: To you your father should be as a god; The worst that may befall me in this case, Thes. Either to die the death, or to abjure Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. Her. So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord, moon (The sealing-day betwixt my love and me, For aye, austerity and single life. Dem. Relent, sweet Hermia: and, Lysander, yield Thy crazed title to my certain right. Lys. You have her father's love, Demetrius; Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him. Ege. Scornful Lysander! true he hath my love; Lys. I am, my lord, as well derived as he; And, which is more than all these boasts can be, I am beloved of beauteous Hermia: Thes. I must confess that I have heard so much, And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof; But, being over-full of self-affairs, My mind did lose it.-But, Demetrius, come; And come, Egeus; you shall go with me, I have some private schooling for you both. For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself I must employ you in some business Lys. How now, my love? why is your cheek How chance the roses there do fade so fast? Her. Belike for want of rain; which I could well Beteem them from the tempest of mine eyes. Lys. Ah me! for aught that ever I could read, Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth: But either it was different in blood: Her. O cross! too high to be enthralled to low! Lys. Or else misgraffed, in respect of years: Her. O spite! too old to be engaged to young! Lys. Or else it stood upon the choice of friends: Her. O hell! to choose love by another's eye! Lys. Or if there were a sympathy in choice, War, death, or sickness, did lay siege to it; Making it momentary as a sound, Swift as a shadow, short as any dream; Brief as the lightning in the collied night, That in a spleen unfolds both heaven and earth, And ere a man hath power to say, "Behold!" The jaws of darkness do devour it up: So quick bright things come to confusion. Her. If then true lovers have been ever crossed, It stands as an edíct in destiny: Then let us teach our trial patience, Because it is a customary cross; As due to love as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs, Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers. Lys. A good persuasion; therefore, hear me, I have a widow aunt, a dowager I swear to thee by Cupid's strongest bow; By that which knitteth souls, and prospers loves; Enter HELENA. Her. God speed fair Helena! Whither away? Hel. Call you me fair! that fair again unsay. Demetrius loves your fair: O, happy fair! Your eyes are lode-stars; and your tongue 's sweet air More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear, When wheat is green, when hawthorn-buds appear! Sickness is catching; O, were favour so, Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated, Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still. Hel. O, that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill! Her. I give him curses, yet he gives me love. Hel. O, that my prayers could such affection move! Her. The more I hate, the more he follows me. Hel. The more I love, the more he hateth me. Her. His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine. Hel. None; but your beauty: 'would that fault were mine! Her. Take comfort; he no more shall see my face; Lysander and myself will fly this place. Lys. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold: Her. And in the wood where often you and I Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie, [Exit LYSANDER. Hel. How happy some o'er other some can be! Through Athens I am thought as fair as she. But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so; He will not know what all but he do know. And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes, So I, admiring of his qualities. Things base and vile, holding no quantity, Love can transpose to form and dignity. Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind : Nor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste; Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste: And therefore is Love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguiled. As waggish boys in game themselves forswear, So the boy Love is perjured everywhere: For ere Demetrius looked on Hermia's eyne, He hailed down oaths that he was only mine; And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt, So he dissolved, and showers of oaths did melt. I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight: Then to the wood will he, to-morrow night, Pursue her and for this intelligence, If I have thanks, it is a dear expense: But herein mean I to enrich my pain, To have his sight thither and back again. [Exit. SCENE II.-The same. A Room in a Cottage. Enter SNUG, BOTTOM, FLUTE, SNOUT, QUINCE, and STARVELING. Quin. Is all our company here? Bot. You were best to call them generally, man by man, according to the scrip. Quin. Here is the scroll of every man's name, which is thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our interlude before the duke and duchess, on his wedding-day at night. Bot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats on; then read the names of the actors; and so grow on to a point. Quin. Marry, our play is-"The most lament able comedy and most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisby." Bot. A very good piece of work, I assure you, and a merry. Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your actors by the scroll: masters, spread yourselves. Quin. Answer as I call you.-Nick Bottom, the weaver. Bot. Ready. Name what part I am for, and proceed. Quin. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Py ramus. Bot. What is Pyramus; a lover, or a tyrant? Quin. A lover, that kills himself most gallantly for love. Bot. That will ask some tears in the true performing of it if I do it, let the audience look to their eyes; I will move storms, I will condole in some measure. To the rest. Yet my chief humour is for a tyrant: I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split: "The raging rocks, And shivering shocks, Shall break the locks Of prison-gates: And Phibbus' car Shall shine from far, And make and mar The foolish fates." This was lofty!--Now name the rest of the players. This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein; a lover is more condoling. Quin. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender. Quin. You must take Thisby on you. Quin. That's all one; you shall play it in a mask, and you may speak as small as you will. Bot. An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby too. I'll speak in a monstrous little voice: Thisne, Thisne!"-"Ah, Pyramus, my lover dear; thy Thisby dear! and lady dear!" 66 |